


Anonymously Avengers

by archers_and_spies



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hackers, F/M, Hacking, Red Room (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies
Summary: In 1997, Nick Fury quits S.H.I.E.L.D. and organizes the Avengers Initiative independently, only in this universe they're seemingly ordinary people with a knack for computers and hacking. Right when one of the original members of the hacktivist group, Natasha Romanoff, meets an archery teacher from Brooklyn, secrets are uncovered and identities revealed-- can Natasha keep what's close to her heart safe?----AKA the Anonymous Clintnat AU nobody asked for because 2020 is essentially a movie
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 33
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay buckle in because y'all are in for a ride. first of all i would like to express my admiration for anonymous, the stuff they're doing (or at least did) is good and the reason this idea was born was because i think clint and natasha are also drawn to helping people in the shadows!!! obviously the concepts used in this fic are inspired by many other authors and a [few](https://archiveofourown.org/works/987348) [other](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169491?view_full_work=true) [works](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4498710) (hopefully that doesn't spoil too much)  
> disclaimer that i do NOT own any of these characters and thank you to shelby and [ashlea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashlearose13) for bearing with my 1am writing rants, crazy ideas and helping me make decisions because i am a libra :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi just a little tw, this chapter has a mugging at night and slight violence !!

Natasha looks up from her book, waiting for Tony’s new software to finish cracking the villain of the week (Ivan Vanko)’s phone password. A new text document had opened up by itself on her laptop screen and someone is typing:

`is this the avengers?`

Intrigued by the little green letters and the flashing cursor, she leans forward and types a reply:

`_depends. who’s asking?_  
someone who's interested in joining  
_you know who i am?_  
only your ip  
_how can i trust you won't look through my stuff_  
i think it would be stupid to put any personal things on a laptop for an avenger`

She stays silent at that.

`i'm right, aren't i?  
_still, you found me. that's pretty impressive. you're in, i guess._  
sweet! so how does this work? is there a twitter group chat? do i get to hack servers now?`

She rolls her eyes. This is probably some teenager in their mom’s basement. Still, she supposes, everyone starts somewhere.

`_you don't contact us, we contact you. and only when we have operations._  
copy that. look forward ;)`

Her laptop beeps and she closes the text document. The password is a seemingly random string of numbers and words, but Tony’s software had cracked it in mere minutes. She’s beginning to see why he seemed so excited to gift it to all of the other Avengers.

She types the password into the password field of Vanko’s phone and clicks into his call logs— _oh_. Tony’s going to love this. She sends him a simple text: _He’s working with Hammer._

She closes her laptop and gets up. She’s got calls to make, places to go, people to lie to. She puts on a coat over a crisp white shirt and leaves the loft.

Thor answers on the second ring as she’s walking down the street. “Lady Natasha?”

“Hey, I just sent some screenshots of incriminating information your way. Could you make sure they get posted on social media? And not on your account.”

There’s a brief pause as he checks what she sent, and chuckles. “Oh, this is good stuff.”

“Thank you. Just give me around an hour, I’ve got a phone to return.”

She hails a cab to the prison where Vanko’s being detained and lies through the plastic to the guard the way she always has, untruths slipping through her lips as naturally as telling someone her name. _Rushman, Natalie Rushman._ (False.) _I’m from Legal, they let the department borrow his phone._ (Also false.)

When said phone is safely back inside the plastic bag marked _belongings_ , only fifty minutes have passed. She sends a quick text to Thor to give him the go ahead, and walks out of the prison, still feeling the glare from Vanko on her back.

And maybe it’s because she’s still a bit distracted from the high of it all, but someone in a black ski mask manages to pull a gun on her before she even realizes there’s someone behind her. “Your money or your life,” he says, which is a bit outdated, honestly. She’s even about to go easy on him until he grabs her shoulders and shoves her, hard. 

Everything happens in quick succession. She throws a punch and kicks him in the groin, catching his fist when he retaliates, and a knife whizzes past.

A knife whizzes past?

She’d wanted to enjoy this, but too concerned about where the silver glinting on the ground might’ve come from, she forces the mugger down and hits him hard in the head with her bag. He passes out, and she crouches down to inspect the knife. Who—

“Miss!” A breathless figure shouts, running up to her from the sidewalk. “Miss, are you okay?”

“I didn’t need your help,” she stands up and half-yells back, pissed at herself and this random stranger for drawing attention to her, even if the street seems empty apart from them.

“I… can see that,” he pants when he finally reaches her, and up close he’s actually… kind of cute. It makes her less pissed and more pissed at the same time. “And that’s weird. I usually— no, I _never_ miss.”

“Right, what were you aiming for, the ground?” she says, and it takes him a second to realize that she’s joking, but when he does his smile splits across his face and her heart does the thing where it skips a beat. She admires him for a moment— some people are just so inexplicably _attractive_ — his blond hair illuminated by the street lights, and she’s eighty percent sure his eyes are the exact same shade as the afternoon sky.

“Anyway,” she says, breaking the comfortable silence of them smiling at each other, “Still, that was— I mean, you were so far away, and it was close. You nearly got him.”

“I mean… I guess it was a little bit cool.”

“Just a little,” Natasha smiles. “And for the record—” she reaches into her left shoe and pulls out the dagger she keeps there— “I had my own knife too.”

“Huh,” he says. “Well, I guess muggers better watch out then. Speaking of… how hard did you hit this poor guy exactly? He’s been out for, like, five full minutes.”

“He’ll be fine. I think.”

They’re interrupted by an alert on his phone. He lets out a surprised “oh” and tilts the screen so Natasha can see it. The news headline reads in bold letters: **JUSTIN HAMMER EXPOSED TO BE WORKING WITH VANKO**. Natasha knows when she turns her phone back on in the safety of her loft, she’ll undoubtedly be met with passive-aggressive Tweets about Hammer from Tony’s account and smiles at the thought.

“That’s… this is crazy. The prison he’s being kept in is right there, a few blocks away. What a coincidence, right?”

She hands him his knife from the ground, him being too immersed in the shock of the news and accepting it absentmindedly. 

“Yeah,” she says under her breath, walking away. “What a coincidence.”

——

`so i met someone a few days ago  
 _did you_  
should’ve asked for her number. don’t even have a name  
 _you’re telling me you wouldn’t be able to find her?_  
don’t be ridiculous of course i would. just seems a little creepy  
you ever feel these brief but intense connections with people  
like  
like an eclipse and nothing else matters but it’s only like that for a few minutes and then everything’s back to normal and reality comes rushing back  
 _in another life you could be a poet_  
trust me if i told you my actual job you wouldn’t believe me  
 _i mean… we’re part of the avengers. doesn’t get more unbelievable than that_  
true. this ever get old?  
 _you’ll be the first person i tell._`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed that, there's more to come soon and happy pride month! [here are a list of places you can help with the blm movement](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) / [fic commissions](https://the-archer-and-the-spy.tumblr.com/post/619634057583722496/im-doing-fic-commissions) / [edit commissions](https://www.instagram.com/p/CA2ufZhgml2/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *subtly drops hint that natasha is bi*

6 months later

His name is Clint Barton.

She stopped herself from going too far, and technically she hadn’t done anything illegal, yet. But his name is Clint Barton, and those three syllables along with the image of his smile have been cycling through her mind like the interior of a goddamn washing machine ever since she snuck a peek at his Facebook profile.

She sits down at her usual table at the café and sets up her laptop. It’s still early, and the shop’s empty except for her. When Steve spots her, he says hi enthusiastically and gets to work blending her usual order. James, by his side as always, chuckles and shakes his head fondly.

`how’s your day been  
_it’s only six am. and what is this, tinder?_  
sorry feeling a bit nervous today looking for distractions  
_[here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7b/24/ba/7b24ba27b5aac57fff211e04c42d4e15.jpg)_  
did you just link me a dog meme  
wait are you implying that's me`

“So.” Steve walks over to her table to put down her croissant and coffee. “Who’s going down today?”

She tilts her head and smiles, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Hmm. Haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re terrifying, you know that?” He walks back to the counter where James is cleaning the drawers.

`how’d you guess i was a dog person did you stalk me`

It’s ten minutes past six when someone rushes in through the door. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.”

Natasha looks up to see someone apologising profusely to Steve and James, and her blood goes cold. She immediately pretends to be invested in whatever she’s doing on her laptop and practically buries her face in the screen.

She didn’t believe in fate, but this… this is new.

Clint— _Clint_ —was saying, “I know how it looks, being late on my first day, but—there was a problem with my MetroCard, and around thirty people in the subway were dressed up as dinosaurs—”

“Hey,” Steve interrupts. “It’s all good, dude. It’s not even rush hour yet.”

Natasha’s not looking his way, but she senses it when Clint’s gaze lands on her. She’s instantly very, very conscious of her distinctive red hair and the fact that she remains the only person in the entire café.

“Sorry… Miss?” He’s walking slowly towards her, and when she looks up to meet his gaze she can’t help the smile that creeps across her face despite the sirens going off in her head. 

“Hi,” she says feebly, because his presence itself is doing things to her and her mind is blanking, absolutely blanking.

“I don’t know if you recognise me, but…”

`alright. conversation over message received`

“No,” she blurts out in response to the hacker-slash-stranger, then realizes Clint is still right in front of her and hurries to close her laptop nervously. “I mean—yes. Of course I do, you’re the guy who aimed for the ground.”

He breaks into a relieved smile, and honestly, she’s tired of her heart stuttering at the sight, even if this is just the second time she’s seen him. In proper lighting, she’s able to see purple hearing aids behind his ears. “I’m Clint. Clint Barton.” He holds out his hand, and she takes it, heart pounding so hard she’s afraid he’ll feel her pulse in the handshake.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she smiles, and lets go of his hand a fraction of a second too late. “You—are you working here?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “Taking a break from my job in Bed-Stuy.”

Natasha’s already internally calculating their distance—it wouldn’t take her long to find out his precise address, but it’s not like she’s going to do that. _Be normal._

“You come here often?” He asks.

“Practically every day. I’m friends with Steve and James,” she says, nodding towards the two men behind the counter watching their conversation raptly. When Clint turns his head to look, they hurriedly turn around and pretend they’re interested in polishing the coffee machines. “They work here full time, every shift of every day.”

“That’s really cool. Um, you still got that knife in your shoe?”

“Always,” she says, reaching down and taking the dagger out, tossing it in the air and catching it by its handle, then sheathing it back into her shoe. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Exactly. Everyone tells me I’m just paranoid.”

“Can’t be too careful,” she says, and Clint gets called back to the counter so that James can walk him through everything as Steve shoots urgent questioning glances her way. _Later_ , she mouths, and already regrets the half-promise—she’s never going to live this one down.

`you talking to some hot boy or something  
hello????`

——

“Natasha Romanoff. Don’t think you can get away so easily.”

Natasha looks up and groans when she sees Steve and James practically running towards her. “Right when I’m packing my stuff?” And she even did good today. Transferred five whole grand from an unconvicted murderer to ten college students in debt, all the while paying attention to Clint getting hit on by basically all the customers of around his age.

“Who was that?” Steve asks. “Well, we know he’s Clint Barton, but _who was that_?”

“And why did he know where you keep your knife? Thought that was between us,” James says.

“What? You knew?” Steve asks James. “You could’ve told me. I nearly had a heart attack when you pulled that out, Nat.”

“Твое лицо смешное, когда ты напуган,” James justifies, and Natasha snorts.

“Oh, of course. Russian conversations again, just to exclude me. Thanks a lot, guys. Love you, Buck.”

“I love you, Steve,” James assures him, “but sometimes you’re a bit clueless. And—stop steering the conversation away, Natalia, I know what you’re doing. You know Clint? From where?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Natasha deadpans. “He tried to save me from a mugging six months ago.”

“Right,” Steve drawls. “And you don’t hate him, _why_?”

“Hate?” James says. “Did you see her? Her eyes were _shining_. Someone has a crush.”

Natasha scoffs. “Alright, you know what? I don’t have time for your childish nonsense, okay, Natasha Romanoff is saving the world and kicking ass with or without a man. Or woman. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve already spent over nine hours sitting at this table, and for once I’d like to have a meal that isn’t a single croissant.”

Steve acts offended at that, but James merely asks, “And why have you been here for nine hours? You usually leave at three and do your business somewhere else. It’s five p.m.”

“All the more reason you two should get out of my face and let me go home, hmm?”

“We’re watching you, Romanova!” yells James as she steps out of the door.

——

`I FOUND THE GIRL  
YOU KNOW THE ECLIPSE GIRL  
 _it’s been months_  
I KNOW IT’S AMAZING  
 _does this mean i can expect more poetry to come_  
don’t ruin this for me`

——

She only remembers that she ordered pizza when the doorbell rings, but when she opens the door she’s greeted with a nervous smile and blue eyes that make her heart drop into her stomach.

“Clint?”

He finally tears his gaze from her face and looks around the loft. “Wow, this place is huge.”

“How did you find my address?” She opens the door wider to let him in without really realizing it.

He shrugs, “Bucky told me?”

She raises an eyebrow, even though his back is turned to her. “James gave you my address?”

“More importantly, why is a place this big registered under an alias?”

“Like I said,” she replies, shutting the door behind them, “can’t be too careful.”

He’s still admiring the loft, and she remembers how she felt when Tony first showed the place to her and told her the entire spacious place was hers, all of the huge slanting windows and the wooden floorboards, the grey couch and flatscreen TV. If only she could’ve told her teenage self that she was going to make it.

“How long have you lived here?” He asks.

“Uh, few years. Why?”

He twists his body to face her. “Oh. I don’t know, place just seems kind of… impersonal.”

She looks around her loft, _really_ looks. There’s nothing on the walls except for the wallpaper that came with the loft. The only carpet on the floor is solid white in front of the TV with a glass coffee table on it. And her bedroom might not be visible from the first floor, but every day she wakes up to the same crisp sheets and clean towels in the bathroom.

Clint takes her lack of response the wrong way. “Wait. I didn’t mean it like that, sorry—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says. “You’re… right. I always thought of it as being neat, but—you’re right. There’s practically nothing here.”

“And that’s okay,” Clint says hurriedly. “I get it, I’ve… been afraid to face who I am too before, more than once. Don’t rush it and just be yourself. I can even help you decorate it. If you want, of course.”

A slow smile spreads across her face, and it mirrors itself on Clint’s face too. “I’d like that.”

The doorbell rings a second time, and when Natasha finishes tipping the delivery guy five dollars she turns around to find Clint on her couch, bouncing his upper body up and down.

“Pizza?” She sets the box on top of the coffee table.

He gasps in delight. “Always. Hey, anyone ever tell you your couch is, like, really bouncy?”

——

`_how’s your eclipse_  
?? what  
 _your eclipse girl??  
the one you just reunited with_  
oh  
she’s great  
and super nice  
 _am i getting a name_  
of course not, i’m not insane you’d probably track her down and dig up some weird stuff about her  
 _smart_`

 _I think I’ve found my eclipse too_ , Natasha nearly types, but stops herself before she does anything she knows she’ll regret. After all, nothing lasts forever, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! the one line of russian Bucky speaks translates to _your face is funny when you're scared_. over the upcoming chapters there _will_ be some more russian and here's a hint that sometimes i will intentionally nOt provide some translations and of course, i wouldn't be able to stop you from translating it with google but if you're patient it'll pay off ;)
> 
> i promise the actual plot kicks off next chapter, remember to donate if you can and sign petitions!!! stay safe :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we going places in this chapter!! anyway tw for mentions of physical abuse, drunk driving that results in a fatal car accident, y'know, Clint's background story.

Natasha opens the door to Clint holding a cardboard box. “Hi,” he grins.

“Затмение.” It slips out because she’s the word’s been in her mind for the whole day, and knowing what it means, it’s just so easy to match it to Clint’s face.

He looks confused. “Right. Is that a pet name, or…”

Still reeling from her outburst, she settles with, “An insult.”

“Can I… come in?” He asks awkwardly, and she realizes she’s been staring. She should really stop doing that. At least, when they’re face to face.

“Right. Of course. Um, what is that?”

Now that his back is turned to her, she lets herself admire his ruffled hair and unevenly tucked purple shirt. He’s a disaster, but she’s never been attracted to anyone more. ~~Should she be worried?~~

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he smiles, looking around.

“You mean what we’ve done,” she corrects shyly. “And… I love it too.”

She means it. There are splashes of personality around the place now, plants, carpets, cushions on the couch, paintings on the wall, she’s even got some coloured towels and bedsheets. And in the far space, an enormous tree.

“Oh, and these?” He raises the box in his hands slightly. “They’re decorations. For your tree, of course.”

“Clint, it’s not even November yet.”

“And you already have your tree up, so why not decorate it? No offense, but it looks bland.”

“It’s October, Clint.”

“You can’t stop me, Romanoff.” He runs toward the tree but the box somehow falls out of his hands, and he slips on one of the baubles that tumble out. Natasha’s heart drops out under her and she gasps, frozen, but then he starts laughing and she starts laughing and before she knows it, she’s on the floor too, unable to catch her breath.

“How,” she wheezes, “did that happen?”

“Oh, God. There was tinsel in that box.”

Natasha turns her head without sitting up, and there’s indeed glittering strips of sparkles all over her floor. “That’s okay. I kind of like the spirit.”

“You are something else, Natasha Romanoff,” he says, and it makes something jump inside her. When she rolls over after a good few minutes to finally get up, she finds herself hovering right over Clint, his face mere inches from hers—

“Nat,” he breathes.

“Hi,” she says, getting lost in his eyes again before clearing her throat and pushing herself to her feet all the way. 

Clint follows suit and she pretends not to notice the way his hand brushes hers for a split second. “We should—we should probably clean this up. Sorry for the mess.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, and when they start hanging up the decorations, their conversation fizzles out. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, though, and he soon starts it up again: “Why do you have your tree up in October anyway?”

Natasha lets out a dry laugh, only hesitating a split second before telling him the ~~half~~ truth. “Where I’m from—I didn’t get a lot of freedom, you see. Sometimes I just kind of want to make up for the stuff that I missed out on as a child.”

Clint looks at her long and hard, then goes back to putting a frankly unnecessary bow on one of the branches. “That sucks. I’m sorry, and if you ever need anyone to talk to… I know how scarring this stuff can be.”

Natasha smiles understandingly. “Not to intrude, but I feel like there’s a story behind that.” Then she adds softly, “You can trust me too, Clint.”

He senses the shift in the conversation and goes to sit on the couch. “When I was little…” he starts. “my dad used to beat me—it’s how I lost my hearing—until his drunk ass drove him and our mother into an accident, and my brother and I were placed into the foster system. We eventually ran off to the circus where I was displayed for my sharpshooting, then I ran away from that as well and found Katie. That’s how I became an archery teacher in Bed-Stuy.”

Natasha’s been standing shell-shocked beside the tree this whole time, and she slowly comes over to the couch to sit beside him. She even goes as far to put a hand over his gently. “Clint, I—I didn’t know. I”m sorry.”

“All my life… I’ve been running. From my dad, the system, the circus. It just seems like I end up the exact same place. And I think—that’s why I opened up to you, Natasha, I think you understand something about that. I see it in your eyes.” When he looks at her she looks right back, and there’s nothing but truth in his gaze. “The fact that you keep a knife in your shoe at all times…”

Natasha opens her mouth to respond, but closes it after an awkward moment of silence. She doesn’t know when or how this conversation steered this way, but he’s right and she can’t deny it. She’s been trying to settle down ever since Fury chased her down and introduced her to this idea of his, and even when she’s got a place to live in that’s this huge, she still jumps at the slightest noise, still has this unsettling feeling that everything’s going to deteriorate when she least expects it. 

It doesn’t seem like he’s going to continue, so instead she swallows and says lamely, “Archery. That’s pretty awesome. How’d you go from that to working in a coffee shop?”

“Oh, Kate, my student—you’d love her, I think.” His eyes brighten just talking about her, and she briefly wonders how someone who’s gone through so much can still love this fiercely. “She’s also crazy rich with a big heart, and that’s why she let me teach her archery for the money that I need to get by with, even if she is a natural at it. Well, her girlfriend and her are sort of taking a vacation—or at least, that’s what they told me—so now I gotta… find my own way in life. And honestly, I’m not complaining. I met you.”

 _Do not blush._ “That’s really good for you, Clint,” she says softly. “Everyone deserves some love in their lives. And you… you’re a good person.”

They both jump when their conversation is interrupted by Natasha’s phone vibrating, and of course it has to be Stark, of course it’ll be on her StarkPhone with the holographic function. Tony Stark’s face is projected into the air right in front of Clint, who audibly gasps when Stark says hi to Natasha.

Stark pauses and turns his head, reviewing Clint. “And who’s this handsome gentleman?” He asks.

Natasha puts the phone face down to temporarily deactivate the hologram—wouldn’t want Stark using facial recognition to track Clint down. “I’m so sorry, Cl—this isn’t really a good time, but today was so fun and you’re welcome here anytime, really.”

“Oh, yeah, of course, I don’t wanna intrude,” he says with a dazed expression, standing, then does a brief series of hand signs and fingerspelling that she deduces must mean _you know Tony Stark?_

 _I’m so sorry_ , she mouths again, and ushers him through the door. “Please, do come back,” she says before shutting it and hurrying back to the phone to reactivate the call.

“Um, who was that?” Stark’s blue-green face frowns at her.

“A friend. It’s none of your business.”

“Okay then. Note to self that I will pester you about that later, but right now, there’s something more pressing. Remember the ongoing cases of disappearing girls in Russia that we never solved, from maybe two or three years ago?”

“Wouldn’t be able to forget.”

“A few of them have been spotted in America, and we have reason to believe they’re working together.”

Natasha shifts right into inquisitive business mode. “Working together? For what?”

“That’s the question,” he says, stumped.

“Does everyone in the Avengers know?”

“That’s a dumb question, Red, considering how we technically don’t even have an official list of members. As Rogers likes to say, the Avengers are—”

“A set of ideas, not people, and ideas never die,” Natasha recites. “Okay, but how far deep does this go? Do we have an estimated number of people who know?”

“There’s really no way to know for sure. We’ve got the people who reported their appearances to us, and that alone is already at least five people. Add that to the inner circle, we have ten people, but we’d have to account for the Avengers that aren’t even active in this case but can’t keep their mouths shut within this organization, and—”

“Okay, fine, I’ll look into it. Encrypt and send me everything you have. Do we have Fury’s permission to spread this further?”

——

`i think the girl doesn't like me  
 _i don't care about your relationship problems_  
:(  
 _we have a new operation. i need you to find some people for me_  
FINALLY`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii i am trying very hard not to complain about the seven tests we have this week but it's like our teachers got together and went hmm what would be the best way to wear our students out collectively? and unfortunately I'll probably be updating less because finals are coming up and i don't ,,, want to fail,,,,,,, hope you enjoyed anyway :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! my exams start tomorrow and i've given up on studying so y'all get a new chapter featuring tony flexing the fact that he has money instead 🤠 i apologise in advance for the big paragraphs and hope you're all prepared for inconsistent updates ;)

`hey? hello? ...avenger person? do we have codenames  
_you can call me widow. did you find anything_  
that's so cool. im hawk then.  
_is this going somewhere_  
regarding op: missing girls from like a week ago, i followed one of the girls home and planted a bug. call me rn she's talking in another language to some other girls, do you have a burner?  
_what kind of question is that, of course i do  
oh and use a voice changer_`

——

“Thank you for your service, Hawk,” she says, voice quivering and hoping it doesn’t show through her voice changer. She hangs up and tries not to shake too much while reviewing the notes she’s scribbled in the notebook she’d grabbed hastily. The notes switched to Russian three bullet points in, and even though the connection wasn’t the best, she’d managed to single out the words детский дом from beneath the crackle of the static.

She types a formally worded text to Stark, whom she trusts will pass the information on only to the individuals who need to know in order for the operation to advance. It’s part of the guy’s façade: in front of the public he acts like he can never keep a secret when, contrary to popular belief, he can actually understand when the world’s fate itself depends on whether he keeps his mouth shut or not, and sometimes even handles these situations well.

It only takes him fifteen minutes to forward her the procedures already approved by Fury. She’s going undercover—that’s expected—but with Rogers? He’s the most genuine person she knows, but if Fury believes Steve won’t mess it up, then she does too.

She glances at the clock. Less than 24 hours before infiltration, and subtract the time needed for her to thoroughly memorize her cover from that…

She dials his number from memory. “Steve? I need a favour.”

——

This time when the doorbell rings several times consecutively, she opens the door to Clint with an anxious frown on his forehead. She freezes as he steps forward and puts his hands on the sides of her arms.

“Natasha. Is everything okay?” He asks, trying to keep his calm, but there’s a panicked edge to his voice when he takes in her face and then the rest of her body, trying to scan for injuries that aren’t there. “Steve texted me and said you needed me—”

“Clint,” she interrupts, just as panicked—watching him spiral is making her anxious herself—and looking him in the eye to try to put him at ease. “I’m fine. Clint, hey. Deep breaths.”

Once he’s calmed down, Natasha leads him, her hand holding his (which definitely does _not_ send tingles up her arm), to the couch. “God, I’m sorry, I should’ve asked Steve to phrase it better next time. I hope I didn’t pull you out of anything.”

“No, it’s alright, you didn’t,” he says, and Natasha rests a hand on his arm. His pulse is still so erratic that the mere feeling of the rhythm in his veins makes her want to get up and jump around the loft herself. His eyes suddenly snap from her hand on his arm back to her eyes. “You—I’m sorry, what did you need me for?”

Now that he asks her straight on, she realizes that she doesn’t actually have an answer to that. “Um.”

He smiles, gentle and understanding, and turns his arm over slowly so that their fingers interlace. “I’ll stay. And let me ask you this again: are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” she grasps for the right words— ”I just kind of want to forget about everything else for a moment.”

“I get the feeling,” he says softly. “And I’m here for you, Nat.”

“Nat?” She says with a disbelieving laugh.

He instantly backtracks. “Oh, I’m sorry—”

“No, that’s okay. I like it.”

He breaks into a relieved grin, and she does too. And for just a short moment, Natasha forgets about the imminent danger of the operation she’s prepping to go into, about how she’ll probably have to leave for weeks, days if she’s lucky. It feels natural when she leans her head on Clint’s chest and he puts an arm around her. They stay like that for anywhere from two minutes to two hours, and even as she listens to his breathing she feels herself slowly succumbing to sleep, more tired than she thought she was.

She resurfaces a bit when she feels herself being lowered to her bed. Somehow Clint was able to carry her bridal style from the couch all the way up the stairs, and when he turns to leave, trying to be quiet, she grabs his wrist and mumbles, “Stay?”

He raises his wrist, bringing her hand along with it, and kisses it gently. “You’re right. I said I’d stay. ‘M a man of my word.”

He climbs into the bed beside her, and she ends up falling asleep in his arms to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

——

When she wakes up, the new coloured sheets she’d purchased are ruffled but he isn’t there. It’s not surprising, but it still stings a bit. She’d slept better last night than she had any other night in half a year.

One glance at the clock on her bedside table lets her know she’s already running late, and she leaps out of bed cursing, heading straight for the wardrobe. Her phone buzzes and the screen lights up, showing a series of previous texts she’d already missed from Steve. She puts on the plainest outfit she finds at the front of the wardrobe—there’s still a tiny tea stain on the inside of the collar of this shirt from that one time she went undercover as a waitress, but it’ll do. After that, she hails a cab to Stark’s obnoxiously tall tower and doesn’t slow her pace until she steps into the elevator on the opposite side of the lobby.

After the doors close, JARVIS’ disembodied voice greets her: “Facial scan complete. Please place your palm on the touchscreen.” A piece of metal under the block of buttons lowers itself until Natasha sees the familiar touchscreen, and she presses her palm on it until it beeps verification. The piece of metal then raises itself back up to its original position, hiding the screen as the elevator starts going down instead of up.

She knows the screen is being wiped clean as she waits—once, the metal had malfunctioned and failed to hide the opening before a robotic arm with a rag appeared from inside the elevator and started scrubbing it. She’d nearly had a heart attack, shooting the arm with her gun at least three times before realizing what it was. Stark had made her pay for the replacement. ~~She’d handed him a stack of money she’d catfished out of a child predator.~~

The door opens, and the four people gathered in the area right outside the elevator (yes, there’s an entire area just for the elevator before the bunker opens out into different rooms, Stark’s extra like that) turn immediately to face her. Steve breathes a sigh that’s relieved and exasperated at the same time, and she knows she deserves every bit of the annoyance on Stark’s face.

“About time you showed up,” Stark says. “What happened, Romanoff?” He’s not even using one of the many nicknames he has for her—that can’t be good.

“I…” _spent the night with someone_ , she’s about to say, then realizes it’d land her in even more trouble (not to mention gossip), and that technically Clint had nothing to do with her being late—how could he, when he’d left? 

“I overslept.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie either.

“ _You_ … overslept?” Banner asks quietly, looking at her through his glasses. Not in a rude curious way, more of a polite interested one. And she doesn’t blame him—she doesn’t think she’s overslept in years.

“Really, Natalia,” James says, shaking his head and enjoying this a bit too much to be serious. “I expected better from you.”

“You’re fine, Natasha,” Steve says pointedly. “Let’s just go, okay? We can’t waste any more time.”

“Alright. Remember, stick to the plan or I won’t be able to help you. And you will definitely need my help,” says Stark.

“No promises,” Natasha grimaces, already walking towards the doors that lead to the underground garage—see, the public thinks Stark owns only nineteen cars. He’s got at least five more lying around down here.

“Don’t do anything stupid till I get back,” Natasha hears Steve tells James, and without missing a beat, James replies, “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Natasha smiles and rolls her eyes, her back to them so they can’t see it. These rituals of theirs have apparently been in place ever since they were childhood best friends, and she only tells them they’re gross to cover up the fact that secretly, maybe she wants a someone like that for herself. Phrases, sentences with special meanings, inside jokes that others will roll their eyes at.

As Steve hurries to catch up with them, Stark yells, “Don’t scratch my car!”

“I’m driving,” Banner says. “I trust neither of you… scary people. I’m just a regular computer scientist with actual regard for personal safety.”

“By all means,” Natasha smirks. “We’re infiltrating an orphanage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> детский дом: orphanage


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exams are over!!!!!! :D anyway there's no clintasha in this short chapter but i promise the next one will more than make up for it ;)

“Well. It’s not much, but hopefully we won’t even have to stay here for long,” Steve says.

“Wait. You’re telling me this was the best Tony Stark, _billionaire_ , could do?” Banner says, looking around the cramped space, peeling wallpaper and a single bed with two hole-ridden mattresses on the floor.

“It’s kind of already a feat that he could get us a place,” Natasha says. “A place without needing any identity, plus no one looked twice at our fancy-ass car.”

“I’ll take the floor,” shrugs Steve, ever the gentleman, and Banner voices that he doesn’t mind either. Natasha puts her things on the barely upright bed.

“Steve, you ready?” She asks, and turns her head to find Steve smiling at his phone. She immediately reaches out and hits it out of his hand, ignoring his sound of pain. 

“Stop texting James,” she scolds, “you’re going to get us tracked.”

“Why would anyone have reason to track me down?” He mutters, but puts his phone away anyway and checks his watch. “When are we doing this, anyway?”

——

“We’re actually—well, we actually have a son at home,” Natasha gushes, slipping her hand around Steve’s arm. “He’s a little monster, but we love him. We were wondering if we could take a look at the girls?”

“Right,” Steve says, catching on. “Our son is, um, fun and curious, but he needs a companion. A female companion. A sister,” he quickly amends when he realises the accidental insinuation of his words, and Natasha squeezes his arm to get him to stop talking.

“Of course,” the woman with a too-sweet smile says, and gestures for them to follow her down the hall. “The girls are right this way.”

This is it. Natasha excuses herself to go to the bathroom and tells Steve to familiarise himself with the girls. Once she steps inside the bathroom, she double-checks that no one else is inside then pulls out her tablet and turns on her comm.

“Banner, Stark, you there?”

“We’re here,” replies Tony from the safety of the Tower. “Now get a move on. We don’t have all day.”

Natasha pokes her head out the door and looks up. There’s a camera right outside the bathroom, and she mutters, “Perfect,” before ducking back inside. With a few taps on her tablet, she’s connected to the whole network of cameras.

“Too easy.” She lets herself feel good about it for a second, then syncs her tablet with Tony and Bruce. “Stark, you in?”

“Got it. Nice work, Romanoff. Initiating implantation of facial recognition…”

Banner’s voice comes in. “Natasha, there’s a woman headed your way. Middle-aged, blonde hair in a bun, high heels.”

“What?” hisses Natasha. “You sure she’s coming to the bathroom?”

“There’s nothing down your corridor _but_ the bathroom.”

“Okay, hang in there. I’m coming,” Steve says. Natasha had forgotten he had comms too. She steps into the nearest cubicle and locks the door.

“She’s at the entrance,” Banner informs, and Natasha holds her breath as she hears the footsteps stop right outside.

“Natalia?” comes the woman’s silky voice, and Natasha’s blood goes cold, because she’d recognise that voice anywhere—

Natasha (Natalia, she doesn’t know anymore) holds herself as she trembles and squeezes her eyes closed to shut out the rushing wave of memories that are resurfacing. No, no, _no_ —

She hears panting outside, then Rogers’ voice, out of breath: “Ma’am?”

The woman doesn’t respond to him. He tries again.

“Ma’am, I don’t know who you were calling for, but my wife Samantha’s in there.”

This piques her interest. “And… what does this Samantha look like?” Her voice sends shivers down Natasha’s spine, and she wishes it would just _stop_ already, that she would just leave.

“Well, she’s pretty,” says Steve, flustered and uncomfortable. Natasha prays that he’ll hear her thoughts somehow: _Lie to her, lie, lie_ , but he continues: “Uh, red hair, likes to wear leather jackets. Right, babe?” He calls towards the bathroom, a disguised call for help.

Natasha doesn’t say anything. She’d recognise her voice.

“Natasha?” Banner asks, the same time Stark says, “What are you doing, you idiot, answer her—”

Steve, thinking fast, starts going on about how Samantha had drunk some expired milk in the morning and wasn’t feeling well. The woman makes a disinterested noise when she realises Natasha’s most likely not going to come out of the cubicle and walks away, her heels click-clacking on the floor.

After a few silent seconds, Steve knocks gently on the cubicle door. “Samantha?” He asks quietly, as if he himself is doubting if it’s really Natasha inside.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” she says, soft and breathless, and when Tony confirms that the facial recognition’s fully implanted, she unlocks the door and stumbles out, right into Steve’s arms.

“Nat, you good?” He asks while she steadies herself.

“Let’s just—go,” she manages, and keeps her head down the whole way out the door. Steve promises the staff they’ll be back in a cheery tone, and his hand on her shoulder is comforting— _I don’t know what the hell happened in there, but something is definitely going on, and I’m here._ She appreciates it more than she’ll ever admit.

——

Four uneventful weeks pass, and no one brings up the incident. It’s better this way—they can’t know.

When Natasha returns to the apartment (more like _apart_ -ment, the way everything’s broken and keeps breaking) after her daily walk, Steve doesn’t even raise his head from his phone, no doubt texting James, and says, “Bruce went out for groceries.”

“What? You could’ve asked me,” Natasha frowns, taking her too-loose ponytail down and then tying it back up again. “It’s best not to leave anyone alone in here.”

“How was I supposed to know we were running out of milk?” Steve says, and that’s fair, because the three of them have cereal for breakfast every morning (Bruce pours out the milk) and for lunch and dinner they either eat out with Stark’s money or order in, also with Stark’s money.

The domesticity of the situation strikes Natasha face-on. It’s ridiculous; you’d think the Avengers wouldn’t have to worry about the state of their apartment or food rationing or running out of milk, but life takes surprising turns, Natasha’s learned.

It’s that exact moment that the monitor of the computer left always on under the curtains starts flashing red. Natasha curses.

“Already? It’s only been a month,” Steve says, reluctantly putting his phone away, but Natasha just hopes they’ll be able to get this over with. Living in an apartment right across where the encounter with— _her_ —happened… well, it wasn’t ideal.

“Get Stark and Banner on the line. They should’ve gotten the alert by now, just—get them on the comms. And this time, Rogers?” She pauses so that he’ll properly meet her eyes. “This time we stick together.”

——

“We’re so glad to have you back,” the woman at the reception smiles, and leads them right to the girls. A blonde woman’s already there, back facing them, seemingly very interested in a few of the girls.

That has to be the woman who triggered the facial recognition alarm. Steve and Natasha exchange a glance and he clears his throat. “Sorry, Miss, but we were considering adopting little Peony here,” he says, and Natasha’s secretly grateful that he made the effort to remember their names.

“Is that so?” The woman turns.

Natasha’s heart drops into her stomach. Her hand falls to her waist, where her gun is tucked safely against her skin.

Yelena Belova smiles. “It’s so good to see you again, сестра.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> сестра: sister // also the woman outside the bathroom was not yelena!! sdkfljs


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pacing? idk her. i promise everything will make sense tho!! tw for knives in fighting, getting stabbed, kidnapping. s o r r y

“Don’t move,” Natasha warns her in a low voice.

Yelena cocks a brow. “You expect me to listen to you? After everything you’ve done?”

“These children are innocent,” Natasha says, knowing she’d never be able to forgive herself if even one of the children got so much as a scratch just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“Well, let’s bring this outside then.” Yelena turns and walks out without looking back to see if she follows. Natasha frowns a tiny bit—turning your back on someone you don’t fully trust just like that without even having a weapon in hand—it seems a tad arrogant. She follows along anyway, Rogers at her heels, Peony and the other girls standing long forgotten watching them leave.

Once they’re outside, in an alley beside the orphanage, Yelena pulls her gun on Natasha. As a reflex, she mirrors Yelena, cocking her gun and aiming it at her in a span of two seconds. They start circling each other.

“What are you doing here?” Natasha ventures after it’s clear Yelena’s waiting for her to speak. 

“Do I need a reason to visit my sister?” Now that they’re outside the orphanage, her American accent has slipped, giving way to her authentic Russian one.

“Cut the games, Yelena. You still with the Red—you still with them?”

Yelena tilts her head in amusement, eyes darting to where Steve is standing behind Natasha. “He doesn’t know, does he? Wait, don’t tell me... they all don’t know.”

Natasha swallows.

Yelena lets out a laugh. “Wow, _Natasha_. I wonder what cover story you gave them. Was it one that Madame fed you, hmm? Do you think if they knew who you are, who you came from, that they’d still let you in as one of their own? So much of your success comes from us, Natalia, and yet you still refuse to acknowledge—“

“Shut up!” Natasha screams. “Why was Madame here a month ago? Why are you here, Yelena?”

“To put you in your place,” she sneers, and even as Natasha’s trying to figure out what she means, she’s pulled out a small dagger, stabbing it forcefully into her stomach. She gasps, not from the pain (she’s used to it), but from the shock.

“You’ve become weak,” Yelena snarls in her face, pinning her to the wall so she’s not able to take out her own knife from her shoe. “Lucky for you, my orders were not to capture you.”

Natasha struggles, but Yelena still manages to slash a few more times at her, and by the time she’s gone, her entire body hurts.

By the time she’s gone, _Steve_ is gone. 

She realises this too late, and crawls feebly out to the entrance of the alley to watch a black van speed away. Shit.

“Banner, Stark,” she gasps into her earpiece. “Mission’s over. They got what they came for.”

——

_She had promised him they’d stick together._

Natasha’s pulled from her trance when the doorbell rings five times in a row and there’s ~~knocking~~ banging coming from the door. 

“Natasha,” comes Clint’s muffled voice on the other side, and she doesn’t want to move, but okay, she has missed his face, and so she manages to get up and open the door without collapsing.

Once Clint sees her swaying dangerously, he reaches out with his arms to steady her and starts speaking quickly. “Natasha. I heard about Steve, Bucky told me. I—Nat, why do you have blood on your face?”

“Oh,” she says quietly. That makes sense—she hasn’t looked in the mirror ever since she got back, hasn’t changed her clothes, hasn’t checked any of her wounds. They don’t hurt too much, though, so they’re probably just shallow cuts.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” Clint says kindly. He steers Natasha into the bathroom and wets a towel, rubbing a spot on her forehead gently.

When Natasha’s silent, he sighs and continues to speak. “Look, Nat… I know you’re not an ordinary person. That your life holds a lot of secrets. I mean, you don’t even go to work, and you can afford a place as big as this one. And that’s okay! I’m not going to ask what got you into this mess, because it’s none of my business.” Done with getting the blood off her face, he rinses the towel in the sink, then turns to face her again. “But I need you to stay safe.”

“I can’t promise that, Clint.” She drinks in the sight of his face, the face of someone she trusts.

“I know. It was worth a shot,” he half-smiles. “How are you holding up?”

Natasha walks them out of the bathroom and onto the couch. “It was my fault,” she says, leaning into Clint without consciously realising it. “If I had tried harder…”

She shifts on the couch so that her face is buried in his shirt. He puts an arm around her shoulder, pulls her in even closer.

“Hey. Nat. You’re doing good. You did your best, and you’re going to find him and bring him home.”

“I’m just so tired. Of everything, and—“ she shifts her face a tiny bit to peek at his eyes, shifts it back down so she can resume moping in his shirt, and sighs. “Clint Barton, I don’t deserve you.”

“No! Don’t say that. You’ve gone through so much. You deserve everything. You deserve the world.”

She smiles into his chest. “You deserve the world too.”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “Well, I already have you, so.”

She tenses at first, feeling the rush of emotions that she’s been trying to suppress for weeks, the exact ones that she’s been taught the hard way to bottle up ever since she was little. She can tell he’s about to start apologising for saying the wrong thing when she cranes her neck to look into his eyes and cups his face with her hands. 

They both know what’s coming, but as if he were actively trying to make her combust with longing, he adds softly, “You’re my world. Tasha.”

She closes the distance and when their lips meet, waves roar in her stomach and fireworks explode in her heart and she can’t hear anything but the pounding of her blood. His gentle hands come to rest at her waist and she hums into his mouth, leaning forward to chase him when he finally pulls away.

“You’re so nice,” she smiles.

He scoffs. “ _You’re so nice_?”

“Shut up.” She hits him playfully. “My brain’s short-circuiting right now.”

“Missed you too,” he grins. “No, for real. You were gone for a month, Tasha. I’m just glad you were back in time for Christmas.”

“Me too.”

“I _am_ sorry about Steve,” Clint says again. “And I’m here for you, Nat. If you wanna talk.”

She kisses him again, then gets up to the table where her tablet is resting. She types a command in, and the speakers around the loft start playing soft, slow music. 

Smiling, she walks over back to the couch and extends a hand to Clint, who takes it and immediately starts twirling her around. Her socks on the wooden floor are slippery, but he manages to catch her every time she even comes close to slipping, and they’re laughing and she’s _happy_.

Her life may be dangerous and ruthless and scary, but sometimes there’s a bubble of peace and quiet in the midst of it all, where she can dance to slow music and laugh and kiss a gorgeous boy who cares more about her safety than his own. Clint gives her a box and makes her promise not to open it before Christmas. Clint is fun and carefree. Clint is _safe_.

——

Bucky’s heart drops when he reads the display name on the screen. He picks up on the first ring.

“Steve?”

“Buck—oh, thank God.”

“Steve—боже мой, you’re alive!”

“No, Bucky, listen—”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m okay. I’m bleeding a lot, but—I’m on my way home. Bucky, listen—Bucky.”

“What?”

“It was Clint. He was behind all this. He did this to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> боже мой: oh my god
> 
> i am Truly Sorry


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i KNOW it's only been like four days since the last update but i simply could not wait. this is a WILD chapter tw for mentions of torture, needles, an apartment fire and kidnapping. have fun and,, good luck,,,,

“Natalia, _look at him_.” James gestures forcefully towards Steve’s body, bandaged and stitched up all over.

“Please, Nat, you’ve gotta believe me.”

“It’s not possible,” Natasha insists, feeling helplessly outnumbered. “He was with me right after it happened. He was there to comfort me.”

“Open your eyes, Natalia,” James snaps. “Wake up. All the evidence points toward him. He shows up at our job, the whole thing with the girls happens, and then Steve gets abducted. And—never mind all this evidence, because you should be believing Steve above all this! You’ve known him for years, Natalia.”

Natasha looks to Steve, feeling the tears threatening to spill. Everything’s happening so quickly, not to mention James has called all of them to the basement of the Tower, which means Stark, Pepper, Thor, Bruce, all right there, all judging her with their gazes, thinking that she’s been brainwashed by some boy.

“He disappeared for a few hours, and then came back. Him going to visit you—it matches up with my story. It was Clint, Natasha. I’m sorry,” Steve says again.

“No, you don’t—I know him, okay? Clint would never. He’s not—Steve, you saw him. If he was really there, do you really think he wanted to do it?”

“Kind of hard to tell when he’s digging needles into my skin, but—I don’t know. He did apologise a few times, but—”

“See? He didn’t want to do it,” Natasha says, feeling desperate.

“Wow. Congratulations, Natalia, your boyfriend has a conscience after practically cutting _my_ boyfriend in _half_!”

“Bucky, come on. Go easy on her—Bucky,” Steve says in a low voice. James turns.

“Stevie,” he replies, voice cracking, in the same voice Natasha so painfully remembers, the gentle yet harsh tone telling her to stay safe, that she means the world to him—

She’d thought she could lead a double life, somehow, with all the craziness going on as opposed to the peace that came with Clint. She’d thought him a good man, had trusted him. And now it’s all backfiring in her face, now her two worlds have collided in the worst way possible.

“Sorry to interrupt. Sir?” JARVIS’ voice asks.

“What is it?” Stark says, uncharacteristically quiet, probably scared of the shouting from the three of them.

“I believe the PA system is malfunctioning. I’ve been hacked, Sir—”

The lights go out. “Привет,” booms a voice in JARVIS’ absence, and the seven of them go completely still. Shivers run down Natasha’s spine, the exact same way they had at the orphanage in the bathroom. 

“We know you’re here, Natalia,” the voice says, and everyone’s heads turn in her direction. Pepper reaches for Tony’s hand.

“I’m here,” Natasha says, hoping her voice doesn’t tremble too much.

“Oh, my darling. I’ve missed you,” says Madame, and Natasha clenches her hands into fists. “My little spider… you’ve seen what we’re capable of, and you know what we want.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says firmly. She doesn’t care if she’ll have to run from them her whole life.

“Wasn’t asking,” she replies coldly. “Clint Barton, your friend, he may be working with us, but we wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. You really want more blood on your hands? Barton’s blood?

“You have twelve hours to send us a signal. After that, he dies.”

The lights turn back on. Shock is written across everybody’s face, except for James, who just looks angry.

“Let him die,” he growls.

“You know I can’t let them do that, James,” she says quietly.

“He’s one of them!” He exclaims. “You heard it yourself. She said it. You can’t seriously be considering going back for him.”

“James—”

“Natalia. You don’t remember what they did to you? What they did to us?”

“Enough!” Stark says. “Romanoff, Barnes, what aren’t you telling us? You knew each other before the Avengers?”

“I’ll let you tell it,” says James coldly.

“Fury’s the only one who knows this. James, too,” she begins. She’d hoped she’d be able to keep this part of her life from them, from the people closest to a family she’s ever gotten. Taking a breath, she continues, “A long, long time ago, my parents’ apartment in Russia went up in flames. A man carried me out of the wreckage and brought me to an organisation called the Red Room. They train girls from a young age to hack, steal, torture, kill… James was one of the people who trained me, and I was their star student.

“Eventually, it became too much. On one of my missions, I shot my handler and escaped. I had nothing, so I started freelancing, and that’s how I ended up on Nick’s radar, who recruited me for my specific skill set. They’ve been chasing after me ever since, either to get me back on their side, or—well, to kill me.”

There are a few seconds of utter silence. Rogers says, “Damn, Romanoff.”

“She’s crazy. You’re crazy,” says James. 

“Bucky’s right. I don’t get it,” Pepper says. “If they’re so bad, you shouldn’t even be considering going back.”

“Look, guys, I appreciate the concern, but in the end, this is my decision to make. You can’t stop me from doing anything, and you know it,” says Natasha. “Uh, it’s been a long day. Maybe we should just call it a night.”

“No—no!” Tony stops Thor from leaving the room. “You think we don’t know what you’re going to do, Romanoff? She’s going to send them the signal that she’s going back.”

“And?” Natasha challenges. “Like I said, you can’t stop me. But that doesn’t mean—look, I’ll sleep on it, okay?”

She watches as they shuffle reluctantly into the elevator one by one. Tony stops a little before stepping in and turns his head. “Be careful, Natasha.”

She nods, avoiding his eyes, and she’s finally left alone in the room.

She looks around and spots a mug on the nearest table. The crash it makes when it shatters on the floor is somewhat satisfying, and she slams her fist onto the table.

 _Clint_.

She lets the tears flow in earnest, but they don’t stop her from doing what she knows needs to be done. She grabs her tablet and traces the hacker from the Red Room all while sobbing. She finds the nearest screen to intercept, shoulders heaving.

“Natalia,” Madame’s face greets her promptly. “If I had known some boy could do the trick, I would’ve recruited one a long time ago.”

“Shut up,” Natasha tells her, fists shaking at her side. “Let me see him. Proof of life.”

“Well.” Madame gets up from where she’s sitting and disappears from the frame. Natasha’s forced to wait until Clint, eyes trained on the ground, wearing the same clothes he was in when she’d kissed him days ago, comes into the room.

He sits down where Madame got up and stays still, head bowed. Natasha glares at him, trying to steady her breathing.

He swallows. “Tasha—“

“Don’t,” she erupts. “Don’t _Tasha_ me, Clint. How could you—“ She brings her hand up to her mouth to stifle a sob. “How could you?”

He blinks and a tear rolls down his cheek. “Look, I didn’t enjoy doing it, okay—”

She wants to yell at him, wants to tear him apart, but in the end the question comes out as a shaking whisper. “I don’t—just answer me this: all of it, did it mean nothing to you?” 

“Natasha.”

She scoffs. “So it was all just to mess with me.”

Clint’s about to answer when Natasha hears the sound of a door opening on Clint’s side and he looks up behind the screen. “Clinton,” someone growls, and her tablet’s screen goes out: the call’s been ended.

That’s weird. They hadn’t even heard her explicitly say she was going back yet. 

“Ground floor, please, JARVIS,” she says softly once in the elevator.

“Miss Romanoff, you know there’s a guest room assigned to you. Mr Stark would prefer if you didn’t leave the building.”

“No, I know. If anyone asks, tell them I’ll be right back. I just need to grab some stuff.”

——

Natasha sits on Tony’s guest bed with a box in her hands.

 _Don’t open it before Christmas._ That’s what he’d told her, her hands in his, a shy smile on his face. And Natasha thinks, screw that, and tears into the wrapping paper. Not like any gift could make up for what he’s done.

Inside the box is a small pile of Christmas postcards with beautiful photos of snowy landscapes and Christmas decorations on one side, the other his messy scrawl all over it in smudged black ink. There are dates on all of them in the corner, so out of the tiny amount of patience she has left for him, she rearranges them chronologically and begins to read.

——

_7th Nov_

_Hi, Natasha. Sorry if you thought this was gonna be some sentimental letter—it’s not, but I have a bad feeling it’s going to be needed. I really, really hope I’m wrong._

_Nat, I don’t want you to get dragged into this mess, so I’m going to keep it vague in case this gets leaked. ~~Barney~~ My brother, he’s gotten mixed up with some bad people, as in, he’s helping the bad people, ~~and~~_

_Here’s the truth. I’m not an ordinary person, and I’m not only saying that because of my childhood trauma. Months ago we hacked into someone’s computer together, and I was so caught up in the thrill of it all that I was blind enough to somehow not notice that my brother had ulterior motives._

_Today, I got an assignment about some bad guys we’re trying to defeat, and when I was ~~following a~~ investigating the case, my brother’s name popped up and that’s how I found out. He doesn’t know I know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up tomorrow with a knife to my neck. I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t wake up at all._

_Natasha—I need this to be out there. I need you to know the truth, so that if I disappear you’ll know it wasn’t random. I’ve got no one else._

_Clint_

_—_

_8th Nov_

_Nat—I was right. They took me, and they’re saying they won’t let me go for at least a month._

_They told me, Natasha. He told me._

_You know you could’ve trusted me with anything, right? I’d have kept this secret. But I guess you didn’t tell me the same way I didn’t tell you. Maybe we care more about each other than we admit._

_I’m going to continue having hope, for you, Natasha. ~~Maybe~~ Once we get out of this, I’m gonna ask you out, and we can bond over Avenger stuff. If that’s okay with you? God, first time thinking about this, and I’m already nervous._

_I can’t wait till I see you again. Stay safe._

_hawkeye_

_P.S. I took your phone last night, while you were sleeping. There’s a number saved under “Kate” with a bow emoji. If I don’t come back, please call her. I don’t want her to hear it from anyone else._

_—_

_11th Nov_

_I’ve been trying to squeeze in some time away from them so I can write, so I can remember who I’m doing this for. It’s ridiculous, what I’d do for you, and I’ve only known you for—well, I guess that would depend on whether you count our first meeting or not. You had me wrapped around your finger ever since the first time you smiled at me on that street._

_I should’ve told you this sooner, but I’ve also been having trouble coming to terms with it myself. They’re threatening you, Natasha. You’re my leverage. They have your address because of me—I’m so sorry—and they’re telling me to comply or they’ll send people over to kill you, and I can’t let that happen._

_Whatever it takes to keep you safe. Wait for me to come back?_

_Clint_

_—_

_20th Nov_

_It’s unbearable, Natasha. I tried to escape using the air vents, but they caught me at the door. The things they’re doing to me—I don’t want you to worry, but they’re so painful. I’ve nearly died a few times. And I miss you so much. I hope you’re not too worried about me. I’m just glad we got to spend one last night together. Maybe I’ll be able to remember your face for a little longer._

_I’ll hold on for you, I promise._

_Clint_

_—_

_2nd Dec_

_They want me to do something. I don’t know what it is, but there’s been a shift. Everyone’s treating me differently, like I can be of actual use to them, not just some hostage who accidentally got his hands on the wrong information. I really don’t want to help them, but they have you, and there’s really no other option._

_I miss your face. I miss your smile._

_Clint_

_—_

_5th Dec_

__

__

_Nat, I’m so sorry. Today I did something I regret, something unforgivable, and it was so terrible, but when it comes down to it, I’ll always choose you. Over Steve, over anyone else. His screams will undoubtedly haunt me for the rest of my life, but ~~your death~~ you being gone is something I can’t even imagine going through. It’s selfish, but at least you’re safe._

_It’s not your fault, Natasha. Don’t ever think that._

_Clint_

—

_5th Dec_

_I’m writing this on the van. They’re letting me go for two, three hours maybe, and this might be the last time I’ll ever see you._

_~~Who am I kidding, it is.~~ _

_I really, really hope you aren’t opening this before they kill me. You can’t know, Natasha, because I know you, and you’re going to come running for me. So, please, God, please have the patience to let this sit unopened for a while._

_I still need you to receive these, though, because I need you to know for a fact how I ~~feel~~ felt for you. I don’t know a lot about love, Nat, but I know that every time you smile at me, every time you’re near me, it fills me up in a way that nothing ever has before._

_~~I lov~~ _

_Maybe if we’d had more time, I could’ve said it for sure. But I can’t, not now._

_Natasha, I’m so sorry. I wish things could’ve gone differently. In another universe, maybe. Don’t lose hope._

_Yours forever, Clint_

__

__

——

Clint is innocent.

Natasha reads the cards over and over, ignoring the voice of logic that tells her it could all be another trap, because she would rather be betrayed yet again than not believe it when Clint’s in actual, real danger.

She’s about to wake the rest of the Avengers when she remembers Steve’s blood hasn’t even dried yet, James is being defensive (understandably), and the rest of the team thinks she’s gone mad. No one’s going to believe her.

She traces the call with JARVIS’ help, packs a few guns, heads to the garage and starts up one of Tony’s cars without asking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Привет: _hello_
> 
> so that was a lot of information all at once :D next chapter clint's perspective and everything starts making sense!!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii so this fic is going to have ten chapters so we're mostly done!! this chapter is basically just filling in all the blanks that Natasha doesn't know about :) enjoy

8 months ago: April

Clint watches Barney type `copy that. look forward ;)` and lets out a disbelieving sound. “Oh, my God.”

Barney leans back in his chair. “And that is how it’s done.”

“We’re… _Avengers_ ,” Clint says, open-mouthed.

“I mean, I did do most of the work,” Barney shrugs, and Clint swats at him.

“Shut up. If it weren’t for my idea to look at the smaller picture and hack an individual instead of a system mainframe, we wouldn’t even have tracked someone here to New York—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You get, like, twelve percent of the credit.”

“Twelve percent?” Clint raises an eyebrow.

That night, Clint meets a gorgeous redhead under the moonlight. Six months later, he puts a name to the face at a café, and his whole world shifts.

November

“Thank you for your service, Hawk,” says the Widow, and she hangs up. Clint assumes it’s a she, anyway, because of the alias.

He takes a moment to compose himself, his mind replaying the moment when he heard one of the girls say what was unmistakably “Barney Barton”. With his hearing aids, there’s practically no chance he’d heard it wrong, and to tell the truth, he has no idea what to do about it.

The door of their apartment opens, and Barney steps in. Clint freezes for a second, and tries his best to act natural.

“Whatcha doing?” Barney asks, putting the grocery bags on the dining table.

“Not much,” Clint replies a little too quickly. “Uh, computer games.” He gestures quick and vague to the laptop, heart pounding and hoping Barney won’t go out of his way to check the screen.

“Right,” he drawls.

Clint opens the drawer where they keep holiday postcards, and uncaps a pen. He writes the date and opens the letter with _Hi, Natasha._

Right after he signs his name, his cell phone gets an alert and he reaches past the laptop to retrieve it.

**Steve Rogers**  
_Clint—Natasha needs you_

If his heart wasn’t already racing, it is now. “Uh, I gotta go. I’ll be back,” he says, grabbing his phone, stuffing a few more postcards into his jacket along with the pen and rushing out of the door without looking back.

He only remembers when they’re both safely tucked into Natasha’s sheets and when he’s holding her tightly that in his haste to leave, he’d forgotten to close the windows on the laptop and disable the bug he’d planted.

He wakes in the ungodly hours of the morning, the light before dawn helping him faintly make out the glint of the gun aimed at Natasha’s head.

“Barney,” Clint says in a low voice, holding out a hand and standing up slowly. “Barney, put that down.”

“You’re coming with me,” his brother says, roughly grabbing Clint’s elbow, Barney’s gun still dangerously aimed at Nat. “You’re coming with me, or she dies.”

“No,” Clint immediately says, “There’s no need for that. Look, I’m coming, okay? Just don’t—you don’t need to pull her into this, alright?”

Barney shakes his head. “You really are blinder than you think, Clinton,” he says as he drags him down the hallway outside her loft and into the elevator. “She’s been part of this since the start. Remember that Avenger’s laptop that we hacked?”

Clint’s heart clenches. “Barney, why are you doing this?”

His face shifts into something hopeful. “Clint, we can finally be great, together as brothers. The Red Room has all the resources we need, and we’ll have everything we’ll ever want.”

“Barney, whatever you’re planning, I’m not gonna be part of it.”

His face goes back to being cold. “Oh, you’ll be part of it, all right.” He pushes Clint into the backseat of a black van.

December

When they drag Rogers in, he does a double take. Clint is sick to his stomach when he says, “Clint, you’re here too! What do they want with—”

He spots the knife in Clint’s hand, along with the array of tools on the cracked table.

“Oh, no,” Rogers says, the colour draining from his face as the goons force him into the chair and tie him to it. His eyes dart back to Clint’s face, pleading silently.

Clint sighs, advancing. “I’m sorry, Steve.” He fidgets with the knife’s handle. “This isn’t personal.”

——

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Barney says from the front seat.

Clint snaps back to attention. “Yes,” he lies.

Barney sighs. “I’ll tell you _again_ : the plan is to woo her using your charms—that is, if she’s not already fully in love with you. That’ll mess with her. Make her fall for you, and then she’ll have to live with it.” He laughs a little at the end, as if he’s enjoying the idea of breaking Natasha.

Clint doesn’t want to do this. He really doesn’t.

“But one visit only. We’ll be waiting for you at the door. You’re not finished, you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint mutters, opens the van door and steps into temporary freedom.

He waits for at least two minutes at her door before knocking and calling out her name, relishing the way it rolls off his tongue.

——

The tears in her eyes show through the blurry quality of the screen.

She scoffs. “So it was all just to mess with me.”

Clint’s about to answer when the door of the room opens, and Barney walks in. “Clinton,” he growls, and pulls the plug to the screen, which goes dark.

“No,” Clint says involuntarily. Natasha might have been hurt, might have thought he’d betrayed her, but at least his selfish heart and eyes were seeing her again, drinking in the sight of her safe albeit angry.

Barney walks up to him and slaps him. He recoils, even though he barely feels the sting of it, heart still going crazy from that chat with Natasha cut short. “You better not have given her anything,” Barney glares.

“I didn’t,” Clint says, and it’s true. What Barney doesn’t understand is that he doesn’t care if the world makes him out to be a villain, even if she sees him as a villain. As long as it keeps her safe.

Somewhere between forty minutes to an hour later, there’s a commotion that comes from beyond the cell, and people rush by in the hallways outside. Barney leaves to find out what’s going on. 

Clint’s hearing aids pick up a subtle noise from the ceiling, and he looks up just in time to see one of the ceiling tiles swing downwards. A second later, there’s a blur of red as someone lands on their feet.

Her hair remains the most vibrant thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Clint,” Natasha breathes, and launches herself straight at him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Oh, thank God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm planning to end this fic exactly two months after chapter one was published!! also if you haven't already, [STREAM FOLKLORE!!!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLINj2JJM1jxNNBnGb3WvHmcyCyfl0VlJX) I'm not kidding the entire album is a MASTERPIECE 😭


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND LAST CHAPTER HERE WE GOOO!! this chapter is basically like the climax of the story !! tw for a LOT of gunfire and also i cried writing this chapter ❤️ good luck ❤️

14 minutes ago

Natasha surveys the abandoned building through the windshield. It looks like a one-story prison that’s been out of use for a long time, and there are several guards outside the main building but inside of the chain-link fences.

After glancing at her tablet screen again to double-check that this is indeed where the call came from, she gets out of the car and closes the door as quietly as she can. She scales the chain-link fence and lands with a roll, nearly tripping over a pebble in the dark.

Natasha looks at the guards again. She could do this the hard, physical way, but she’s got no doubt there are many others inside the prison, and it wouldn’t be easy to fight them all, especially when they’re all wired, trained the same way.

She makes up her mind and approaches the guards. The moment they catch sight of her, their flashlights and guns are already trained on her. She makes a show of keeping her hands visible while lowering the hood of her sweatshirt.

“My name is Natalia Romanova,” she says, slipping easily into a Russian accent, “and I’m here to turn myself in.”

The four guards look at each other. One of them says, “Tьфу, я слишком устал для этого,” and two others grumble their agreement. The remaining guard is forced to escort her to the higher-ups.

It doesn’t seem like it on the outside, but the prison is a _labyrinth_. Even Natasha has trouble keeping up with the number of turns, and the map she’s trying to draw out in her head starts contradicting itself just two minutes in.

The guard leads her around a corner and into a deserted, dimly lit hallway.

When Natasha sweeps his legs out from under him, he’s not expecting it, and lands on the floor with a thud. She doesn’t want to make a huge mess or to draw attention, so she snatches the baton from his hands and uses it to knock him out with a single strike.

After that, she steps onto his body and uses it to elevate her a little while inspecting the ceiling. She throws the baton upwards until a ceiling tile swings down and gives way to the vents. After that, it only takes her two tries to jump and haul herself into the vents. 

She puts the ceiling tile back in its place right before someone walks down the hallway, gasps, and yells in Russian for everyone to come look. By then, Natasha’s already moving through the vents, the clamour spreading out beneath her— _мы только что потеряли Черную Вдову. We just lost the Black Widow._

She hasn’t heard that name in Russian in a long time.

It’s dark in the vents and she has to take extra care to spread her weight out so she doesn’t fall through the ceiling, but she doesn’t have to crawl for long before reaching a cell that sounds quieter compared to the others—no orders being issued, no sounds of people hunting her down. Either that, or she’s found herself above a really thick wall, but she knocks on the ceiling supporting her, and it doesn’t sound solid.

They wouldn’t want Clint involved in all the action, the hunt for her. They would keep him isolated from everyone else.

So, the quiet room: could be a trap. Could also be Clint.

She makes up her mind and finds a ceiling tile with a hatch. It swings down and she jumps too, landing on her feet and looking up immediately.

She’s met with blond, blond hair and shocked blue eyes.

“Clint,” she hears herself say. She runs at him, her mind blanking and just telling her to get as close to him as she can, telling her to hold him. She closes her eyes as she wraps her arms around him, relishing in the feel of _him_ when he holds her back. “Oh, thank God.”

“Natasha?” Clint whispers in disbelief, stepping back and holding her at arm’s length to get a proper look at her. “Nat—how did you—”

“You mentioned air vents in one of your letters,” she explains breathlessly, already wanting to feel his arms around her again.

His face falls. “I told you not to read those. You can’t be here, Tasha.”

She shakes her head. “I’d do anything for you, Clint.”

“Nat, they’re going to find you, and they’re going to kill you—”

“I would walk through Hell a million times for you.”

He pulls her close and kisses her until she has to pull away for air. “Natasha—”

A group of guards run past the cell, and Natasha pulls them both against the wall until she’s certain they’re gone. “Right,” she says, “How well do you know this place?”

“Honestly?” He grimaces. “No idea. I’ve heard it’s cursed.”

“We gotta move; they’re gonna come looking for you, and there’s no way that ceiling could support the both of us at the same time. I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.” She grabs his hand and they run through a series of hallways, holding each other back whenever someone else passes, dodging out of view just in time.

Eventually, the hallway they find themselves in opens into a huge, empty, windowless room. There’s an exit on the far side of it. They stand in the doorway, hesitating.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Nat,” Clint voices, squeezing her hand tighter.

“Me neither, but we’ve gotta keep going,” says Natasha before stepping into the room, Clint right behind her. She’s nearly halfway through when he suddenly pulls her back by the hand, a dart barely missing her head and planting itself into the opposite wall.

They’re still reeling from it, frozen where they’re stood in fear they’ll accidentally trigger another trap, when there’s the familiar cocking of a gun that comes from behind them. They slowly turn to face Madame, Yelena and Barney right behind her.

“Oh, good, Natalia, you’re back,” Madame says, smiling the sinister smile she can’t ever escape from in her nightmares. “Now you can watch as I kill him.”

“The hell you are,” Natasha says defensively, then starts bargaining, ”you told me to send you a signal. Well, here I am. There’s no need for any bloodshed. There’s no need to kill Clint.”

“I thought I taught you to be less naive than this,” says Madame, and out of instinct Natasha flinches, a part of her still wired to blame herself for everything that goes wrong. “I was going to kill him tonight anyway, regardless of whether you came or not. He knows too much, and it’ll teach you a lesson to not get attached to people.”

“I am done with your lessons,” Natasha says before pulling one of her guns out.

She should’ve fired it right then and there, but her split second of hesitation gives Madame more than enough time to fire her own gun three times, straight at Clint.

She watches in slow-motion as two of the bullets rip right into his chest, and drops her gun to jump in front of him and take the third one.

They land on the floor as a heap and there’s a burning in her stomach, but Clint’s been hit twice, and she’s starting to panic. She manages to kneel beside him, all sense of direction gone with her pounding blood making her dizzy, and clutches his shirt, grabs his hand as he whimpers. “Clint—no, no—“

She hears mocking laughter coming from behind her, and then Madame’s voice: “Pathetic.” And then three _more_ gunshots, in quick succession.

Natasha gasps and looks down.

She waits for the pain.

It doesn’t come. 

It takes her a few seconds to fully register that no new bullets have found their way into her, and she turns with her hands still fisted in Clint’s shirt, trying to suppress the pain in her stomach.

Barney and Madame are both on the floor, small holes in their foreheads right between their eyes, which are open and sightless as they stare up.

And then Yelena— _Yelena_ —falls to her knees, then onto her back, a growing red stain right above her heart. Her gun clatters to the floor.

“Yelena.” Natasha doesn’t have to move far from where she’s already kneeling—Yelena had positioned herself right behind her, where Madame would’ve aimed to shoot Natasha. “Yelena, no.” She could try putting pressure on her wound, but it’s far too precise to not have gotten her right in the heart.

“I did what I could,” Yelena says faintly, and Natasha looks around at Barney and Madame. Yelena had done that. Yelena, who shakes her head and laughs bitterly, “But she got me right before I got her.”

Now Natasha wishes Madame could come back to life, just so she herself could kill her again, slow and painful this time.

“For the record,” Yelena continues, and it moves Natasha to see how much fight she still has in her when they both know she’s not getting out of this. “I never thought it was weak. What you’d do for each other… it’s admirable.”

She smiles and whispers, “I’m sorry… Natasha,” before going completely still.

Natasha lets out a sob when she reaches out to close Yelena’s eyes. 

She feels a weak squeeze on her other hand, and reality comes rushing back. Clint, still lying on the floor, looks at Yelena, then back up at Natasha. “I’m sorry, Nat. Were you two close?”

Natasha feels herself going back years, reliving everything. How Yelena used to slip her a piece of stolen bread when the trainers weren’t looking, how their beds were next to each other and Natasha used to mutter a bedtime story in Russian quietly every night, the same one that her own mother used to tell her, one about little girls and playgrounds and kites, the only thing her mother had left her with. She remembers the story word by word to this day.

But then they started to plot the girls against each other, and Yelena never held back during fights. She was always too proud to yield, always wanted to prove herself to everyone watching. In the end, it was the Red Room that tore them apart. 

They could’ve been sisters in another life. She’s sure of it.

Natasha looks at her and Clint’s intertwined hands. “You could say that.” She lets go of his hand then, fumbling a bit when finding the bullet wounds to press on. Yelena might have been beyond saving, but Clint didn’t get hit directly in the heart, and frankly... Natasha can’t imagine losing him too.

But there’s _so much blood_. She can taste it in the air. Her own bullet wound long forgotten, she manages to prop him up against one of the corners of the room, her hands immediately returning to his wounds.

Clint puts his hand over hers on his chest. “Nat. Natasha.”

“Clint, stay with me, okay? I just need you to stay with me—“

He reaches up with a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiles the same way Yelena did. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She’s trying to look at his face, but the tears are becoming too much.

“At least I get to look into your eyes for the last time,” he says, and before Natasha can tell him to stop talking and save his energy, he continues, “Nat, please, get out of here while you still can. I know you can do it, you’re strong—my strong girl.”

“I don’t _wanna_ be strong,” she says, her entire face wet with tears. “I want to be _yours_. You’ve gotta be delusional if you think I’m leaving you here.”

“Hey, Tasha.” He takes her hand again. “You know I lov—“

“Don’t,” she says almost aggressively, putting a finger over his lips. “Do not finish that sentence. Listen to me. We are both making it out of here alive, and then you’re going to have—you’re going to have all the time in the _world_ to tell me.

“And you’ll move in with me, and we’ll wake up together every morning, and we’re going to be fine. We’re going to be happy. Think about it.”

Clint shakes his head once. “You need to go, Natasha.”

“Never,” she swears.

But he’s gasping for breath already, and Natasha’s crying but trying not to show it to no avail, begging to the universe, to gods she doesn’t believe in, to anyone who will listen: _please, not him too. Please._

And then through the speakers, a voice booms through the entire prison.

“Attention, bad guys! This is Nick Fury speaking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tьфу, я слишком устал для этого: ugh, i'm too tired for this.
> 
> ashlea if you're reading this i hope you know you brought this upon yourself !! chapter five of christmas fic deserves no rights


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new hobby: making steve say shit  
> okay this is happening 😭 please please have fun reading this chapter i will miss this !!!

“Nick?” Natasha breathes, looking up at the ceiling where his voice is coming from. The hope in her heart skyrockets.

“Who?” Clint says weakly.

“You’re going to be okay, Clint,” Natasha tells him, letting herself believe it for a change.

Nick’s voice continues. “It’s over. We’ve got you surrounded. Your people don’t stand a chance against mine.”

There are distant sounds of fights coming from beyond the cell. Natasha fleetingly wonders who the “people” are. Had Nick hired them?

“Tony Stark himself has released enough incriminating footage to the public that if any of you step out into civilisation, there’s a good chance you’ll immediately be apprehended. In other words, we got you good.”

Natasha slumps against Clint, relieved but also exhausted. “Just hang on. Help’s coming, I promise.”

She spots movement out of the corner of her eye and grabs the gun from beside where Yelena’s lying motionless. She’s not even thinking when she whirls and shoots the gun twice out of instinct.

“ _Whoa_ ,” says Steve Rogers, slowly straightening back up, hiding behind his forearm and twisting around to look at the two bullets in the wall. “It’s just me, Nat.”

“Steve,” Clint says, before Natasha herself can get any words out, shocked that she could’ve killed _Steve_ if the gun had been aimed a few more inches to the left. She lets Clint continue: “Steve, man, I’m so sorry, I—you know Natasha’s life was on the line, and I—I’m so sorry. I know that’s far from enough, but—”

“Shut up,” Steve interrupts. “No, I mean—as in, that doesn’t matter right now. You’re literally bleeding out, and you need to save your energy.” 

He puts one of Clint’s arms around his shoulders, and Natasha takes his other one. Together, they carry him out of the cell and down the winding hallways, which are starting to spin. Clint looks like he wants to tell Steve something more, but Steve keeps shutting him down.

“It’s all good, Clint. We’ll talk about this after you’re safe and stable. Now is not the time.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—”

Natasha stumbles and somehow isn’t able to catch herself. In a split second, she lets go of Clint so she won’t drag him down with her. The next thing she registers is that she’s on the floor breathing heavily.

“It’s Natasha,” Clint finishes lamely. “She was shot too.”

“Shit,” Steve says, frozen. All he can do is reach out a hand to Natasha—he can’t even crouch down, because that would mean bringing Clint down with him as well. “Nat, I’m gonna need you to power through, just this one time.”

Natasha takes a deep breath, takes his hand and pulls herself up by it. It hurts, but she won’t go out easy. If Yelena were here, she’d sneer at her, tell her to stand and keep up. She grits her teeth and drapes Clint’s arm around her shoulders, ignoring the concern he says her name with.

Somewhere between two to twenty steps, she’s on the floor again, and this time she’s still gripping Clint’s hand.

“Natasha,” Clint and Steve say in unison, and she knows she’s not getting up this time. Her head is pounding and she practically can’t feel her legs. _Sorry, Yelena._

“Just get him out of here. Please,” she tries to say to Steve before the darkness swallows her. 

The last thing she feels before she’s pulled under is Clint’s hand in hers.

——

She hears the steady beeping of a heart monitor before she opens her eyes.

Daylight streams through the windows of Stark Tower’s hospital room, the pale yellow walls familiar from all the times she’s gotten hurt and ended up here. Natasha blinks blearily and tries to turn her head away from it, which is how she notices the figure sitting at the foot of her bed.

Nick looks up from where he’d had his head bowed. “Romanoff. About time you came around.”

Natasha bolts upright, ignoring the pain that shoots through her stomach. “Clint—where’s Clint?”

“Damn, Rogers was right when he said you were _deep_ in love.” He raises the eyebrow of his good eye, and she feels herself flush. “But hold your horses. Don’t you want to know what happened first?”

Natasha exhales and leans back a bit. “You have three minutes.”

Natasha likes Nick. He knows when not to play around, when to be direct and get to the point, when her patience is wearing thin, because there’s really one thing she cares about right now, one thing she deems worthy of her time, and he _understands_.

“It didn’t take Stark long to notice you’d taken one of his cars. He traced it, obviously, and figured that they’d need all the help they could get. So he contacted me and told me everything.

“Here’s the thing. There’s an organisation called SHIELD—I’m sure you’ve heard of it—that kind of owes me a favour. It’s a long story, one that involves me losing my eye, and you wouldn’t believe me anyway. But they lent me part of their SWAT team, and that’s how we surrounded them, how we kicked all their asses. They’re all either dead or in SHIELD custody now. Rest assured they won’t get away with anything. We also have the girls, mostly for their own safety. We know they’re innocent.

“While this was all happening, Stark was outside the prison, hacking into the cameras. He was so angry when he saw the footage that he didn’t even bother making a burner account or anything, just uploaded it on his public account so it would get immediate attention and views. The media’s going crazy with their conspiracies about why he would have access to the footage and, believe it or not, the Tower’s blocked off from the public. There are crowds out there. Just a heads up.

“And we sent Rogers and Barnes in to get you two. I gotta say—you really scared me for a second there, when Barnes carried you out and you were all limp,” Nick admits.

“Well, I’m alive,” Natasha says, because she doesn’t really know how to console someone who saw her near death. Nick chuckles.

“One more thing. SHIELD didn’t just lend us sixty agents instantly after I asked for nothing. In exchange for what they gave us, they pulled me back into their ranks again after twenty years. And, well, you too.”

“What?”

“They’ve always wanted you on their side. Well, I suppose it’s our side now, but—someone with your skill set could definitely be a valuable asset. I’ve managed to fend them ever since I started thinking of recruiting you, but this time around it was this or your life. So…” He pulls out something black that looks like a wallet with a circular eagle logo on the front, and opens it to reveal a card inside printed with a picture of her and her name beside it. _NATASHA ROMANOFF, LEVEL 4._

“Welcome aboard, Agent Romanoff,” says Nick, handing her the ID. She accepts the ID and along with it, a whole new bunch of secrets she’s bound to be required to keep.

She doesn’t want to keep secrets from Clint. Not anymore.

Natasha says, “Alright. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Barton and I are a package deal,” she says quickly, and braces for his reaction.

Unexpectedly, he smiles. “Oh, good. The full set! I’m sure SHIELD has some spare bows and arrows lying around.”

She does an internal victory dance and beams in spite of herself. “So, Clint—he’s alive? Is he here? Can I see him?”

The door opens and two people walk in. “All in due time, Romanoff,” Tony says.

“It’s good to see you up, Natasha. You were out for a whole day.” Steve pushes a wheelchair to the side of her bed.

She stares at it. “You’re kidding, right? It’s a bullet wound to the stomach. I can walk just fine.”

“I am not taking any chances after you literally collapsed back there like Juliet,” Steve argues. “Now get in the wheelchair if you want to see your boyfriend.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and gets in grudgingly. Nick stays behind in her room while Tony leads the way. The pace Steve pushes her at is agonisingly slow and she considers just getting up and walking multiple times, but they finally reach the room with Clint in it, and Natasha’s so relieved to see him alive that she ignores the fact that Tony’s given him a bigger room than her.

“He’s not awake yet, but his heart is beating just fine,” Tony clarifies, and Natasha thinks that she could cry.

And okay, maybe she is crying. She’s done pretending she doesn’t care about Clint. 

Steve wheels her up to Clint’s side. Up close she can see the sunlight shining on his hair and glinting off his hearing aids, the rise and fall of his bandaged chest, and she just wants to wrap herself around him, wants to feel safe with him again.

“You know what they say,” Tony continues. “Where there’s a Tony Stark, there’s a way.”

Natasha looks up at him, smiling and blinking tears away. “Tony… thank you,” she says sincerely. “We both owe you our lives.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs. “It’s what you lovebirds deserve. We’ll give you two a moment. Don’t try and escape. We’ve got cameras everywhere.” He points at Natasha with two fingers in a V-shape— _I’m watching you._

Natasha laughs a bit, and Tony leaves with Steve through the door.

She takes Clint’s hand.

——

“God, I’m so glad we don’t have to attend that,” says Clint on the couch, shaking his head at the TV, where Tony’s being asked questions that start becoming a bit too personal. Pepper looks on, helplessly fidgeting on the side of the podium as he dodges more and more questions.

“Yeah, look at all those flashing lights,” says Kate Bishop, head in America Chavez’ lap, their legs swinging off the kitchen counter. “Clint would probably pee his pants.”

Natasha snorts. “I like you already, Bishop.” She takes the tub of ice cream off Clint’s lap and eats three big spoonfuls.

“Oh, so you two are ganging up against me now? When did that happen?” He feigns offence, and Natasha laughs, handing the ice cream back.

“The truth is…” On the screen, Tony glances down at his cue cards. He looks back up, as if he’s completely neglected whatever he (or Pepper) has pre-written down. “I am an Avenger.”

The entire auditorium erupts, the reporters all shooting to their feet, an entire sea of questions flooding the space, incoherent words being shouted at Tony that blur together. 

America tilts her head and Natasha makes a sound of disinterest. Disregarding the TV for a moment, she turns to Clint and asks, “Wait, so the whole time I was talking to that stranger on my laptop, it was you?”

“Huh. I guess so. Maybe sometimes it was… _him_ , but mostly me.”

Tony points at a woman in a pencil skirt, and the room quiets down for a while so they hear her question.

“Mr Stark, a great deal of the population thought that the Avengers were just a myth,” she says.

“Well, we’re as real as can be,” Tony says, not even letting her ask the question. “Saving the day from the shadows, all the time. You’d better believe it. Who else?”

“Are the Avengers hiring? How do I get in?” Someone asks, and a few people laugh. Tony smiles.

“A friend of mine likes to say that… the Avengers aren’t people. They’re a set of ideas, and ideas never die. So as long as you always stand for helping others and doing what’s right, consider yourself an Avenger.”

The answer’s so good that the reporters are momentarily silent before the questions start up again. Natasha groans and buries her face in Clint’s shoulder. “I cannot believe he just said Steve’s thing word for word.”

“Right? He’s probably freaking out with Bucky in their apartment that his motto ended up on live television.”

Kate and America have wandered off, taking a private tour around the loft. Natasha calls in their general direction, “Don’t touch anything, or you might accidentally trigger a nuclear strike or something.”

She climbs into Clint’s lap. He’s looking at her with an expression she’s never seen before, one that makes her adrenaline spike and stare back at him. She feels the smile on her face spread wide. “What?”

He says softly, “About that thing I was going to tell you… are you ready to hear it now?”

Her heart skips a beat, maybe two, and she’s answering before her brain has even processed it properly. “ _Yes_. Always have been.”

“Good,” Clint grins, hands bracketing her waist. “Because I love you, Natasha Romanoff.”

“Clint Barton, I love you too,” Natasha says immediately, not even giving him space to breathe after his sentence. “Mое затмение… my eclipse.”

The girls return from their little private tour right when Tony stops accepting questions, steps off the podium and the news program ends. They walk in on Clint and Natasha kissing and Kate shrieks while America doubles over in laughter.

“Oh, come on, Katie, don’t tell me this wasn’t what you two were doing in Natasha’s room,” Clint deflects, trying to hide his blush.

“ _Our_ room,” Natasha reminds him. 

His arm around her tightens and he kisses her forehead, smile growing. She rests her head on his shoulder smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAA okay i can't believe this 🥺 i published the first chapter of this fic exactly two months ago and i really really hope you enjoyed this story; it was so fun to write and in the process i accidentally got emotionally attached to it 🤠 i hope the ending is satisfactory enough 👉🏻👈🏻 thank you so so so much for reading my messy, fast-paced, unbeta'd fic; i love you all so much 💕💞💓💗💖💘💝  
> [obligatory self promo link ✨](https://cheree.carrd.co/)


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